


Breach of Contract

by infiniteeight



Series: Guarantee [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, Dark fic, M/M, Unsafe Sex, eating my words now, how many times did I say I wasn't planning to write a sequel?, in multiple ways, the boys continue to be committed to each other in weird and disturbing ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:48:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A SHIELD team leader leaves Clint in enemy hands after a mission.</p><p>Phil Coulson is not pleased, and he's not about to give Clint up so easily.</p><p> </p><p><b>Warnings</b>: As in Guarantee, this world's Clint Barton has a sexual kink that is extreme. There's a more...voyeuristic element to it in this fic, but its definitely still there. Surprise isn't important to this story, but I don't want people to see it here when looking for the first fic, so once again, if you're concerned you may be triggered, please check the end notes to be safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breach of Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Perpetual Motion for the beta read!

The screen of Coulson's phone lit up and buzzed quietly with a text message alert. He paused in his work and glanced over, smiling when he saw it was the anticipated alert from the flight deck. _Team returned from Mission Code: Pickpocket._ As he stood, reaching for the phone, it buzzed again. _Hawkeye absent from Team._

The smile dropped off Coulson's face. He pocketed the phone and set off for the flight deck briskly, touching the sidearm on his hip to remove the holster clip and the safety.

He and Clint rarely took missions independent of each other. Primarily because Director Fury felt more secure when he fostered their co-dependence, but a significant secondary concern was Clint's inevitable reaction to a successful mission. It made the teams uncomfortable when Phil wasn't there to handle him, to the point that Clint was never left on site for follow up. On the contrary, his team leaders were more likely to send him back to base ahead of the group. If the team was back and Clint wasn't, something was very wrong.

The team assigned to Pickpocket consisted of one equipment specialist, Agent Yarrow, two infiltrators, Agents Burke and Martinez, a comm tech, Agent Loiselle, and the team leader, Agent Lang. They were all still on the flight deck when Coulson arrived. Agents Yarrow and Loiselle were assisting the deck crew with unloading their jet. Agent Lang was speaking to the deck officer. Burke and Martinez looked ready to depart, but they froze in place when they spotted Coulson. He strode up to Agent Lang; the deck officer broke off mid-sentence and quickly stepped back. Coulson saw Martinez's eyes flicker to his sidearm. He touched Burke on the arm, and she followed him as he stepped to the side.

Agent Lang frowned at the deck officer and turned to Coulson. "Agent Coulson."

"Agent Lang. How did your mission go?" Coulson asked evenly.

Lang's frown deepened. He was meant to report to Fury. But he knew Coulson was Fury's right hand, the only person in SHIELD who could occasionally presume to speak for the Director, so he answered. "Successful, sir. We acquired the desired equipment without revealing our infiltration to Hydra."

Successful, the man said. Successful. Coulson kept his breathing even. "And yet you seem to be short a specialist." 

"Agent Barton was captured." Lang hesitated, uncertain. "SHIELD's implants will ensure our infiltration isn't compromised through interrogation, sir." His tone said, _You should know that._

"Did your mission brief mark Agent Barton as expendable, Mr. Lang?" Coulson demanded. Lang swallowed visibly. "I should remind you, Mr. Lang, that I have seen your mission brief." Clint had, in point of fact, been the only member of the team _not_ marked expendable. Lang included.

"No," Lang muttered. "But the mission was high priority--"

"It is not your place," Coulson snapped, "to determine the relative value of SHIELD assets. Agent Barton is worth considerably more to this organization than a chunk of tech." He drew his weapon. Lang froze; he opened his mouth, but Coulson cut him off. "Do you know why that is, Mr. Lang?"

"No, sir," Lang breathed.

Coulson raised his gun and pointed it at Lang's forehead. "It's because he's my partner."

Lang's eyes went wide.

Coulson pulled the trigger.

The shot, unsilenced, nevertheless didn't seem all that loud in the wide-open space of the flight deck. Coulson watched Lang crumple into a pile. A pool of blood spread from the back of his head. Coulson took a slow breath, re-engaged the safety on his gun and holstered it. To his right, he registered the deck officer designating a team for cleanup. 

He looked up at the remainder of the team, clustered together by their jet. "Assuming Director Fury approves," he said, "the four of you are now my retrieval team. I am aware this is not your area of expertise. This is your opportunity to avoid Mr. Lang's fate." He paused and waited for their nods. If they were a bit jerky, that was their problem. They really should be made of slightly sterner stuff. "I am going to brief the Director and to get approval for the retrieval. You will have an appropriate suite of equipment gathered and loaded on this jet by the time I return." He paused, remembering Martinez's glance at his sidearm and his subsequent removal of himself and Burke from the line of fire. The junior agent was smart, and perceptive. They weren't encouraging that enough, if Lang was any example. Coulson caught Martinez's eye. "You may request the assistance of the deck crew."

"Thank you, sir," Martinez said.

Coulson nodded, turned on his heel, and marched towards the Director's office. On his way, agents took one look at his face and quickened their pace, several abruptly ducking into adjacent offices or corridors. Coulson ignored them, instead marshaling his arguments in favor of a retrieval. Clint might not have been marked expendable, but there was a difference between not risking him mid-op and blowing a successful mission and several years of effort maintaining an inside contact in a major Hydra cell.

Upon reaching the Director's office, Coulson knocked, then entered without waiting for permission. Fury broke off in the middle of a sentence and looked away from the suite of screens he was addressing. He met Coulson's gaze and frowned. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, not looking back at the screens. "I seem to have a crisis." He pressed a button and the screens blanked. "Problem?" he asked Coulson.

"Agent Lang left Agent Barton in enemy hands upon completing his mission." Coulson bit out the words like he was sinking his teeth into Lang's throat. Shooting the man had been too damned fast.

Fury leaned back in his chair. "I assume Agent Lang has been taken care of." Coulson nodded. Fury went on. "Do you want a retrieval team, or are you going to handle this yourself?"

Coulson couldn't restrain the relieved breath he expelled. "I'm going, but I'll be giving Lang's team the opportunity to redeem themselves."

"Generous," Fury drawled. "Report to me when you get back." Coulson nodded and turned to leave, but Fury called out as he started to open the office door. Pausing, Coulson turned back. Fury looked him in the eye. "I wouldn't have given you Barton if I didn't mean for you to keep him," Fury said. "Lang's disregard for his instructions undermined my authority, endangered the life of one of my most important agents, and compromised the security of the command structure of this organization. _That's_ why you're being permitted to fuck over the number of assets that you will need to fuck over to get Barton back, understood?"

"Understood." Coulson paused. "I wouldn't have left him in enemy hands, sir. Whether or not I had SHIELD support to retrieve him."

Fury raised his eyebrows. "Did I not just say that Lang endangered the life of one of my most important agents? A sniper is replaceable, Coulson. You're not."

Coulson had to smile, just a little. "Thank you, sir." 

Being irreplaceable didn't necessarily make him--and Clint--safe, not if the gain was great enough, but it was nice to be appreciated.

*

Martinez, Yarrow, Loiselle, and Burke were barely halfway through loading the equipment onto the jet by the time Coulson returned to the flight deck, having changed into his tactical gear and grabbed his personal kit. Burke caught sight of him first and hissed something at Martinez, probably urging him to the toss the rest of the equipment into the jet before Coulson got to them. Martinez shook his head and continued with an orderly loading.

"Relax, Agent Burke," Coulson said when he was close enough to be heard. "My meeting with the Director was substantially shorter than expected; I'm not an unreasonable man." He did, however, pick up one of the waiting crates and lift it into the jet himself. They were short on time.

Once they were en route, Agents Yarrow and Loiselle acting as pilot and co-pilot, Coulson took a field report from Martinez and Burke. The Hydra base was isolated, a private lab with ownership winding through so many shell companies that it made even the SHIELD analysts and forensic accountants dizzy. Like an iceberg, the surface installation was just a small portion of the true extent of the base. SHIELD had painstakingly developed a contact within the lab's regular security staff, who had spent years aiding the Directorate in planting bugs, transmitters, and other electronics throughout the place. It was a valuable source of intel--an established base where new equipment was often brought for final stage testing--which was why Pickpocket had been designed as an infiltration rather than an assault. SHIELD had wanted Hydra's latest shot at cloaking technology, and they'd wanted to get it without compromising the base as a resource. Logistics said it could be done, and Lang's team was sent, with Barton as backup in case it all went pear shaped. 

The mission had proceeded as planned right up until Martinez and Burke were withdrawing, equipment in hand. Clint had covered their retreat, an established contingency plan, but doing so had compromised his position. When Hydra closed on him, Lang had beaten a retreat without even attempting to recover him. According to Burke and Martinez, Lang had argued that going back for him would have raised the risk of revealing the extraction was SHIELD-driven to unacceptably high.

"Which means they've had Agent Barton for how long now?" Coulson asked Martinez.

He swallowed, obviously holding back his fear at Coulson’s possible reaction. "Six hours, sir."

And they were still five hours out. The question was, how quickly would Hydra become frustrated once they realized Clint was resisting interrogation not because he was stubborn, but because the implants made him incapable of answering?

"What's the plan, sir?" Burke asked.

Coulson turned to the base plans and reviewed them as he spoke. "Agent Loiselle will monitor the base externally. You and Agent Yarrow will cover the exits and rig a suite of explosives. Agent Martinez and I will go in and retrieve Agent Barton."

"Go in where, sir?" Martinez asked.

Coulson suppressed a smile. Smart, and careful enough to make sure expectations were spelled out. "The front door," he replied. He looked up. "This is not an infiltration, Agent Martinez. These Hydra have taken something from me. They're going to pay for that."

Martinez and Burke exchanged a glance. "Sir...there are at least fifty Hydra stationed at this base," Martinez reminded him.

Coulson nodded. "We're going to need a lot of ammunition."

*

They landed the jet at a private airfield thirty minutes from the base. The van used for the original op was still in the hanger. The five of them loaded it up, armed themselves, and slid into their seats. No one else even glanced at the driver's seat, and Coulson nodded to himself as he claimed it. Excellent.

He made the thirty-minute drive in fourteen.

When they arrived, Loiselle looked a little green, but she unbelted herself from her seat and donned her headset, eyes focused on the communications equipment and giving no indication she was about to lose her lunch. Burke and Yarrow began unpacking the explosives, checking detonators and other electronic components as they went. Martinez joined Coulson at the back of the van so they could gear up. He restricted himself to two handguns and a few knives so that he could pack in more ammunition. Coulson matched his armory, then added a series of small, directed explosives, a field computer, and a couple of flash bangs. He also strapped his personal kit to the small of his back. Martinez glanced at it but didn't ask.

When they were ready, Coulson turned to Loiselle. "Status?"

"I'm in their system, sir," she said briskly. He raised an eyebrow. "They _did_ change their encryption after the infiltration earlier," she explained, "but they used the same algorithm to generate the key, and I already had that worked out."

"Excellent." Coulson activated one of the screens adjacent to the comm console and brought up a file photo. "This is our inside operative. We will attempt not to kill him, but allow me to be clear: Retrieving Agent Barton is our only mission goal. Understood?" The four agents nodded quickly. "Good. Agent Burke, Agent Yarrow, you have a five-minute head start to make sure the exits are covered."

"Sir," Burke broke in. Coulson pinned her with a look. She went pale, but forged ahead. "When the base is compromised, the scientists will automatically be locked down in their labs. If you leave them there, you'll reach Barton substantially faster. And once he's been recovered, we can afford to take a few minutes for a SHIELD detention team to remove them before we blow the base, right?"

Coulson pressed his lips together. He wanted the place to _burn_. But...it might moderate the Director's irritation if they kept the losses down a bit. And disposing of multiple scientific teams without even interrogating them would be wasteful.

"Once I find Barton," he allowed, "I will inform you whether or not we will be leaving anyone for the detention team." If Clint was damaged, the hell with the Director.

Burke let out a breath. "Thank you, sir."

She and Yarrow coordinated their watches and jogged away from the van, their backpacks full of explosives not even slowing them down. Coulson forced himself to breathe evenly as their head start counted down. "What's the chatter from the base, Loiselle?"

"Sounds like they're still arguing about what security changes need to be made since our breach earlier." She snorted softly. "No sign that they're aware that SHIELD was involved. No indication that they're aware we're here now."

"Word on Agent Barton?" Coulson asked evenly. It wasn't her fault she hadn't understood what he was asking; they'd never worked together before.

She went still, but made no excuses, just rested her fingertips on her headset and listened for a long minute. "I don't have ears on him, but they're discussing the breach and his capture. He's being interrogated," Loiselle reported eventually. "They're frustrated that he isn't talking. Sounds like they aren't aware of the implants yet, sir."

"Good." Coulson checked his watch. Almost time to go. "Keep listening. Contact me immediately if there's any indication that they intend to liquidate Barton."

"Yes, sir."

Coulson rolled his shoulders and drew his side arm. "Are you squeamish, Agent Martinez?" he asked.

"I haven't been so far, sir," Martinez said, drawing his own weapon. "But I've never been on an op like this before."

"Fair enough. Be aware, at the pace we're going to be moving at, you aren't going to have time to stop to puke." Martinez swallowed, but squared his shoulders. Coulson checked his watch again. "Time to go."

There was a small path through the brush that led to the base. Coulson took it at a fast jog, gun held at the ready in case Hydra actually had sentries out. It would be pretty much the first time, but Coulson wasn't about to take it for granted. Not with Clint's life at stake. 

They made it to the main entrance without incident, and Martinez took up a covering positive as Coulson ducked down and planted a charge on the locking mechanism. He backed up and turned his head, but didn't turn his back, and the explosive detonated with a _whump_. Martinez's gun barked twice before Coulson had even turned back; two Hydra were crumpled on the brushed metal floor of the base interior by the time he got his eyes forward. Martinez was proving to be downright useful.

Coulson led the way into the base, stepping over the bodies as he went. There was a second door, which they also blew. At that point, an alarm finally went off, screaming through the air. Coulson resisted the urge to shake his head at the incompetence; today, it was his ally.

Fatigue-clad Hydra foot soldiers sprinted around the corner. Coulson didn't hesitate to fire, and Martinez joined him after the first shot. Coulson was willing to forgive the pause, the need to let Coulson kick off the outright slaughter. Not everyone had Clint's fondness for kill shots. The air grew thick with the smell of cordite and blood as they moved on. "Sir?" Martinez ventured. "Should we question one of them? To locate Agent Barton?"

"Hydra isn't imaginative," Coulson replied. "He'll be in the basement. We just have to work our way downward."

"Yes, sir."

They'd cleared the first two levels when Coulson had to switch out his weapon. Repeated, rapid fire had heated the barrel, and he was losing accuracy. Martinez followed his lead. He hadn't been firing as much, but Coulson appreciated that the man might not be aware of the limits of his weapon if he wasn't accustomed to sustained fire, and silently gave him points for following a senior agent's example.

They were just approaching the stairs down to the lower level when a door opened and someone stumbled into the hall. Coulson's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Sir!" Martinez knocked Coulson's gun down, sending the bullet into the floor instead.

The newcomer yelped and raised his hands, and Coulson realized it was their undercover agent. He stared at Coulson with wide eyes, shaking. "Thank you, Agent Martinez," Coulson said, taking a breath. Too damn focused on Barton. "Mr. Smith, you may exit via the main entrance and rendezvous with my team at the van." Coulson smiled, very slightly. "Your assistance has been appreciated, but this location is being liquidated."

"No shit," Smith said, peering down the blood streaked hallway behind them. "I take it you're here for the guy they're interrogating?"

Coulson's gaze sharpened. "Yes. Location and Hydra numbers?"

"You're headed the right way." Smith pointed back through the door he'd come through. "That way, down the stairs. I, uh, think they're down to the interrogator and two guards."

Coulson smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Smith." The inside man hurried past them. "Shall we, Agent Martinez?"

Martinez let out a long breath. "Yes, sir."

Coulson paused long enough to look over at Martinez. He looked faintly ill, but his hands were steady. "You're doing well, Agent."

Martinez shot him a startled glance, but he nodded and seemed to relax a little. "Thank you."

Nodding, Coulson turned back to the doorway.

They didn't encounter anyone on the other side, or in the stairwell. Coulson flattened himself against the wall on one side of the stairwell's exit door; Martinez followed suit on the other side. Coulson leaned across and turned the knob, yanking the door open.

A series of bullets slammed into the back wall of the stairwell, but none of them came close to either of the two SHIELD agents. Coulson removed one of the flash-bang grenades from the holster around one thigh and pitched it through the door. It went off with a roar and the two of them moved into the hall beyond the door. Both guards were on the floor, groaning, hands clamped to their eyes. Coulson put a bullet in one of their heads, Martinez taking care of the other.

Coulson crouched to confirm the kill--headshots were dependable, but it was a good habit--before holstering his weapon and considering the length of the corridor. There were four doors on either side, all of them showing the red lights of lockdown status.

"Do you have enough explosives left to open all of these?" Martinez asked, frowning. Probably wishing he'd brought some of his own.

"No," Coulson said. "And we couldn't use them, anyway. I won't take the risk of injuring Barton. But I did bring a field computer." He tore open the Velcro sealed pocket on his other thigh and withdrew the device, smaller than a net book but even more powerful, thanks to Tony Stark. "Check the doors for any distinguishing marks."

They managed to rule out four of the rooms thanks to paper nameplates probably applied by the scientists assigned to the labs. The other four rooms Coulson presumed to be cells. Coulson started with the one furthest from the stairs and pried open the cover on the electronic lock.

Martinez took up a guard position as Coulson selected a lock hack program. "Aren't you worried they'll liquidate Barton, sir?" he asked, eyes on the stairwell door.

"No," Coulson said calmly. "The interrogator is with him. He'll know that he's in deep shit. Barton is the only bargaining chip he has. He won't risk killing him, no matter what his orders are." He paused and looked up at Martinez. "When I open the door, stay in the hall unless I call for you." Martinez nodded.

Hydra really weren't very imaginative; when the door of that very first cell swung open, Clint was inside. His hands were bound in front of him and the interrogator, a tall man with brown hair shaved down into mere fuzz on his skull, was holding Clint between him and door, a knife across Clint's throat. Clint was wearing only his black fatigue pants and he was soaking wet. Coulson glanced around the room. A table with restraints. A towel. A bucket. Water boarding. He checked Barton for signs of other interrogation tactics. There were bruises, of course, but nothing else, and Clint was grinning at him. Coulson had to swallow the urge to grin back.

"Hey!" Coulson's gaze tracked back to the interrogator, who was flushed and glaring at him. "You want your man back or not?" 

Slowly, Coulson holstered his gun and raised his hands. "Of course. If I didn't want him back, I wouldn't have killed every other person in this place." The man blanched, his grip going slack for an instant. 

An instant was all Clint needed. He rammed his elbow into the man's solar plexus and twisted out of his grip. Coulson moved at the same moment, lunging across the room. He had his hands around the interrogator's wrist almost before Clint cleared himself. The man stumbled back, but it wasn't far enough; Coulson drove the knife, still gripped in the interrogator's fist, into the man's own throat. Blood splashed warmly across Coulson's cheek and speckled the back of his hand. The interrogator's eyes were wide. Coulson gave him a shove, and he teetered for a moment before crumpling to the ground, gurgling softly.

Coulson sucked in a breath and flexed his hands, still feeling the sting of adrenaline. He turned and found Clint standing by the table, his eyes fixed on Coulson. "Phil," Clint said, and his voice was throaty in a way that was very familiar and nothing at all to do with his interrogation. Phil made a more leisurely, less professional evaluation of his lover and smiled to find him visibly aroused.

"Agent Martinez," Phil called out, not taking his eyes off of Clint.

"Sir?"

"I need to take care of Agent Barton," Phil said. "Close the door. Leave the field computer on this side. Update the rest of the team and call in a detainment team for the science staff, but ensure the compound remains on lock down until I resume contact."

"Yes, sir."

Phil waited for the sound of the door closing before he walked over to Clint. He drew a knife of his own, quickly cut Clint's bonds, and tossed it aside before taking Clint's face between his hands and leaning in to kiss him deeply. Clint moaned and pressed against Phil, his hard cock grinding against Phil's rapidly swelling dick. Phil had to force himself to break the kiss. "You're okay?" he asked hoarsely.

Clint dragged his lips over Phil's jaw. "I'm fine," he said. "I wasn't sure Fury would let you come after me."

"He'd have had to kill me to stop me," Phil growled, and Clint moaned.

"Phil." Clint's lips drifted up from Phil's jaw to his cheek. His cheek still wet with the interrogator's blood. Clint’s lips parted, and he licked it away, slow and luxurious. Phil groaned and dropped his hands to Clint's hips and pulled their bodies closer together, mindless of the way the water soaked into his tactical suit. "Phil," Clint repeated, turning his head to brush their lips together. "How many of them did you kill?"

"All of them," Phil gasped. He caught Clint's mouth in another kiss, rough and hungry. Clint kissed back, just as eager, his fingers tugging at the zippers and snaps of Phil's tactical gear. Phil didn't break the kiss this time, just let Clint strip him out of his clothes, Clint's clever fingers finding his personal kit and delving into it before letting Phil's pants slide down his legs to pool around his ankles.

Clint broke the kiss to hold up the small bottle of lube he'd liberated from the kit and grinned. "You know me so well."

Phil leaned back in for a quick hard, kiss. "Get yourself ready while I get my boots off."

"Yes, sir," Clint murmured.

Crouching, Phil quickly tugged the laces on his boots loose and kicked himself free of both them and his tangled pants and briefs. When he turned his attention back to Clint, a hot surge of lust went through him. Clint had shed his pants and was bent over the interrogation table, one hand between his legs, his fingers, shiny with lube, plunging into his ass.

"Christ, just look at you," Phil said. He stepped up behind his lover and gripped his wrist, drawing Clint's fingers slowly out of his hole so that he could watch the slick ring of muscle clench.

Clint laughed. "I'd prefer it if you fucked me."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive," Phil shot back. He picked the lube up off the table and got his cock wet. Clint had both arms folded on the table, but he was holding his head up instead of resting it on his arms. Phil didn't realize why until he finished pushing inside Clint and could see the floor on the far side of the table.

The interrogator's corpse was lying there, framed by a large pool of blood. "Fuck," Phil gasped, letting his head fall forward to rest on Clint's shoulder. 

Clint turned his head, his lips brushing Phil's cheek. "You stabbing that asshole in the throat just might be the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen," Clint breathed, rolling his hips to move Phil's cock inside him.

Phil straightened up and started moving, pounding his cock deep into Clint's ass. "You don't mind," he gasped out between thrusts, "that I didn't leave him for you?"

"Fuck, no," Clint groaned, rocking back into Phil's movements. He was tight, so fucking tight, his ass grasping at Phil's cock despite the slick. "You looked...God... _wild_."

Phil groaned and picked up the pace, fucking Clint harder. He curled his hands around Clint's hips and pulled him back into each thrust. Clint moaned, his head finally dropping down onto his forearms, his back hollowing as he lifted his ass towards Phil. "Fuck me so good," Clint panted. "Yeah, that's it, that's--" he broke off into a moan as Phil snapped his hips in hard. " _Harder._ "

"I will fuck you exactly as hard as I please," Phil growled, even as he obliged. "You're mine, and _no one_ is going to take you away from me. "

Clint's gasps ratcheted into high, sharp noises. He leaned into the tabletop, bracing himself for Phil, and when Phil reached around to grip his cock, his breath choked off for a moment before stuttering out unevenly. Phil fisted Clint's dick ruthlessly, keeping pace with the hard pace of his fucking, not letting up until Clint groaned brokenly and came. The throb and clench of his body around Phil was all Phil needed to finish, too, pumping his come into Clint's body.

They slumped over the table for a long moment, the room silent but for their breathing, heavy and deep from the exertion. Eventually, Phil scraped himself together and carefully withdrew from Clint, who grunted softly before straightening up and raising his arms over his head in a luxurious stretch. Phil admired the play of his muscles for a moment before crouching to retrieve the wet wipes from his discarded personal kit. He tossed a couple to Clint.

"So what's next, boss?" Clint asked as they cleaned up.

"The place is wired to blow," Coulson said. "We'll give the science teams a few minutes to escape into the tender arms of SHIELD's detainment team, but after that," Coulson glared over at the interrogator's corpse, "I intend to watch this place burn to the ground."

Clint grinned and tossed aside his handful of wet wipes so that he could pull Coulson in for another kiss. "I love you, too," he murmured.

~!~

**Author's Note:**

>  **Continued from Warnings** : Clint is sexually aroused by killing other people. He doesn't get to kill anyone this time, but he gets off on watching Phil do it, and he definitely enjoys the body being right there while they have sex.


End file.
